


Moments in Time

by Skye_Light



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But make it better, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Married Life, Miscarriage, Multi, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Pregnancy, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Soft Draco Malfoy, Tags May Change, budding friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 06:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Light/pseuds/Skye_Light
Summary: Life after the war is both easier and harder than anyone could have imagined. But time has the pesky tendency to just keep going, leaving you no choice except to move along with it. That's what Draco and Astoria Malfoy are trying to do - move on, build a family, and find their little bit of happiness in the world.Small episodes of life after the war, and the years to follow. TWs are in the notes at the beginning. Occasional rants are in the notes at the end
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. 15th August 2001

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Miscarriage TW: Major Character Death  
> I'll be honest, I'm not really sure what this work is, but when I read The Cursed Child, I was almost appalled by some of the characterisation (not to mention the plot), and I thought I'd write it the way I thought the characters would behave.  
> So if you, too, feel like CCh was *not that great* feel free to stick around. I'll post about a chapter a day from Monday to Friday (sometimes more if they're a continuation) because this is already written - I'm just editing it atm.

It was a well-known fact that the social events thrown by Narcissa Malfoy were an affair rivalled by no other. Her best ones were always thrown at the Malfoy manor, as she had full control of her surroundings there, but the events she organised elsewhere were just as glamorous, as it was obvious by this Governor’s Ball – the first she was voted the confidence of organising. She had transformed Hogwarts’ Great Hall into something _Witch Weekly_ would talk about for weeks. A lesser-known fact, known by few members of a dying branch of the Wizarding society, was that those affairs were only enjoyable to those whose lives weren’t tied to them. You could easily distinguish them in the crowd, and noting the two types was a game Astoria and Daphne Greengrass played every time. Even after Astoria married Draco Malfoy, much to the dissatisfaction of both their families, the two sisters continued to play the game at every party. Daphne insisted it was the only reason she enjoyed them but, in fact, she quite liked seeing Draco and Astoria interact, allowing Daphne to see more of what her sister saw in her former classmate.

“Alright, the woman in the gold and black dress? Over there, by the champagne fountain.” Asked Daphne, and Astoria swooped her hair over her shoulder to cover that she was turning in the direction her sister had mentioned. A move she had mastered, growing up attending galas like this one.

“Her dress and accessories match quite elegantly, without looking like they’re custom made, and her hair is charmed to perfection, but look at her shoulders – she’s very taut. I think she might have married into a pureblood family but is still uncomfortable here.” The woman was standing with her back to them, so they still weren’t sure who she was and that was half the fun.

“Maybe she’s looking for a husband.” Said Daphne, taking a sip of her champagne and looking away from the woman. “The posture may be because she’s getting rejected. Or her dress is of an unfamiliar cut.” Astoria shook her head, looking in the opposite direction of her sister and away from the woman in gold.

“She doesn’t look uncomfortable in the dress, so she must know she looks good, but she’s not desperate for attention. In fact, she’s shying away from it – she only speaks to one person at a time – all married, and immediately looking disappointed.”

“She’s yet to speak to your husband, so maybe she just knows who would go for her.”

“Are you complimenting me for keeping my husband loyal, or him for only having eyes for me?” Smirked Astoria, and Daphne’s gaze flittered over the slight flush on her sister’s cheeks.

“I didn’t think the two were mutually exclusive.”

Astoria had always been strong and opinionated, and Daphne worried Draco Malfoy and the thousand years of tradition he stemmed from, would crush her. But since the wedding her sister had become even more confident and outspoken, which was why Daphne started putting more effort into getting to know the Malfoy heir better. Astoria took a drink and gently placed her hand next to her sister’s, interlacing their pinkies. Years ago, to make the game more interesting, they modified a betting charm to keep track of their scores. The prize was always different, but as they grew older, the game became more important than winning.

“I say she’s looking for a powerful man, who will elevate her status in society.”

“I say she’s married to a pureblood and is just trying to get through the evening in one piece.”

“You’re both right, for once.” Daphne looked to her right to see Draco Malfoy, exceptionally well dressed and groomed, place a small leather wrap on the table between them. “That’s Hermione Granger. She is here looking for powerful wizards, but not to marry – to support her latest endeavour in helping creatures, small children, or something equally as defenceless.” He nodded to Daphne, “And she’s married to Ronald Weasley.” The name came out almost as spiteful as it used to when they were children.

“Be nice,” said Astoria chastising her husband and gently tugged on his sleeve, an almost unnoticeable motion, “What is this?” she said taking the leather wrap.

“It’s a lemon tart from the kitchen elves,” he said quietly, taking a second wrap and placing it next to Daphne’s hand. “And this is a brownie. The canapes are borderline inedible, and I couldn’t bring Astoria something, without bringing you something as well.”

“Buying my affections, Malfoy?” She asked, tapping her fingers on the table and locking eyes with her sister with a knowing smirk.

“I’m willing to grovel for your approval, but please don’t make me.” He said with a smirk, and gently lifted his wife’s hand to place a lingering kiss on it.

“Alright, enough, before you scandalise the high-society.” Said Daphne, only half mockingly. She wasn’t sure how, but her sister had Draco wrapped around her little finger and he never once fought it. He reluctantly released her hand and went to stand on Daphne’s other side, moving a respectable distance from both women.

“How much longer?” asked Astoria, unwrapping the dessert and smiling at it as the tart scent hit her nose.

“Just a few more hours.” He said, taking the glass of firewhisky he’d been nursing since the beginning of the gala. He had placed it under the stasis charm upon arrival and never drank – only brought the glass to his lips without taking a sip. “I need to make sure Mother sees me talking to every single guest here before we could leave. Now eat, there is a particularly eager elf, awaiting your opinion on the desserts.” He turned to Daphne and gave her a rare, genuine smile. “How is your candidature progressing? Are you on the way to becoming Hogwarts’ youngest Governor?”

“Well on the way,” she said with pride, “In fact, I’ll grant you a few moments with your wife, I see a particularly viable opportunity to further my own career. Granger is not the only one who can use her womanly woes to get her way.” She said with a graceful twirl of her dress and sauntered off.

“She’s a force to be reconned with,” said Astoria, as Draco moved closer to her, taking Daphne’s place. “Keep the brownie, she’ll be hungry in a while.” Draco nodded and picked up the desert, watching his wife daintily nibble at her tart.

“How are you?” he asked, placing one hand on the high table, and waited for her to place hers next to his. When she did, he gently ran a thumb over the back of her hand, looking at their wedding bands.

“There is nothing I can say in public, especially here,” she said carefully, voice low. “Go, finish your work here, so we can go home.”

“Astoria,” he said quietly and rolled his neck. He always hated having this conversation, “you know I can’t leave you alone. Don’t make that face, it’s not because of your curse. It’s for the same reason there are Aurors in every nook and cranny of this castle right now. It’s not safe.”

“Will you ever stop being paranoid?” The question was one she asked often, but her tone was always gentle. “Do you think Daphne would have kept me safe if we were ambushed?”

“Daphne was an excellent duellist back in school. She’s bested me several times. And like me, she’d die and kill for you.” He said, voice serious. “You could come with if you can keep your tongue behind those perfect teeth.”

“If you make it up to me later.” She said with a put-on sigh. There were worse things than hanging off her husband’s arm, while he talked to people.

“Anything you want.” He held out his hand and she accepted his help getting down from the chair she was perched on, hooking her arm around his elbow.

For an hour Astoria stayed silent and demure, smiling gently, and having frivolous discussions about this season’s trends in hats and robes. She was awfully close to actually ripping off her own hat and throwing it in the face of a witch, who dared to flirt with Draco right in front of her. To his credit, he acted like she didn’t exist, until the woman left. They made their way to the champagne fountain and Astoria picked up a glass and used the relative cover of the nearby drapes to down half of it to calm herself, but when she turned around Draco wasn’t there.

“Is this a skill one acquires, or will I have to live with attending these events sober?” Astoria turned her head and met the eyes of one Hermione Granger, a kind smile on her lips.

“Once you get accustomed to the burn of the bubbles, you’ll be officially one of us.” There was no need for introductions and pleasantries. They both knew who the other was, but this moment held the quiet agreement that neither would discuss it. “I would like to tell you it gets easier, but it’s always as boring as this.”

“I don’t know how you do it. Holding your tongue in front of everyone, at every social event. I can barely do it twice a year.”

“What makes you think I need to hold my tongue. I am a respectable society wife – I have nothing to say.” Said Astoria dryly, and saw Hermione Granger smile gently into her glass.

“Rumour is, I am the smartest witch of my age. When the ministry couldn’t stop talking about how the Malfoy family elves were freed and hired on an above-average contract, I figured it wasn’t just because Draco Malfoy feels guilty. Also, I remember you from school.”

“You do?” this was a genuine surprise for Astoria.

“Some, I wasn’t always busy with curses and Horcruxes. I remember you from my eight year. You loved Care of Magical Creatures and Astrology, and you were vocal about everything. What happened?”

“It is expected of me, now that I am married.”

“He seems possessive.”

“Overprotective.” Corrected Astoria, “Don’t worry, I express my opinions plenty. But sometimes, for the sake of something bigger than yourself, you have to make concessions.” Astoria lifted her glass to Hermione Granger’s in cheers. “This is my job, just like grovelling to ministry officials is yours.”

“At least you look comfortable in your dress.” Said Hermione, flexing her fingers around the glass.

“If it makes you feel better, you don’t look uncomfortable in yours. But that bit you get used to, the dresses and hair, I mean. The mindless chatter, not so much.” Astoria looked Hermione directly in the eyes. “What is the price for your presence at my side?”

“That obvious, is it?” Asked Granger with a sly smile.

“I know my husband well. He’d go to unimaginable lengths to ensure my safety and comfort. If he’s willing to bring me lemon tarts from the kitchens, then promising you galleons for your newest project is nothing.”

“Werewolves’ rights.” Said Hermione, “He has indeed pledged half of what I would need, no questions asked, anonymously for now. I wonder where the ‘for now’ comes from.”

“Mrs Granger, I am the wife of a powerful man. You are the independent career woman.”

“I beg to differ, Mrs Malfoy, I think you have found yourself a husband willing to listen to your opinion, before signing your name. I just wonder why he pledges his Galleons.”

“It comes with the territory – when you have enough money to buy the world, pledging half of your bill is just crumbs.”

“Why do I have the feeling you are the one I have to impress?”

“By all means,” said Astoria looking over to Draco, who seemed to be in deep conversation with a short pudgy man. “I appear to be anything but short on time and you can be both hiding and gaining financial backing.” When the next morning Draco was looking through the _Daily Prophet_ , he was not surprised to see his name under the supporters of Hermione Granger’s new bill.


	2. 16th August 2001

“Good morning, wife,” Draco said when Astoria made her way to the drawing-room of their cottage. “I see your night was as successful as mine.”

“Good morning, husband,” she said, walking to him and waiting for him to move the newspaper, so she could sit in his lap. “I did, thank you.” She curled up in his arms and tucked her head under his chin. “I want to have a child.”

“Tori, we’ve been through this,” he said calmly, even if his hands tightened around the newspaper, crumpling it. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Everything is dangerous for me,” she said pulling away to look him in the eyes, trying to stay strong when she saw the hurt in his expression.

“Please, Tori, give this up,” he pleaded and turned away when she tried to kiss him.

“Don’t you want a kid? A little dragon, running around? Your hair, my eyes, our combined stubbornness.” She tried to sound cheerful if only to hide her own painfully strong desire to give him a child and stood up from his lap.

“Not at the expense of your health.”

“What health? Draco, you can hire the best Healers and the most expensive Curse Breakers from around the globe, but it won’t change the facts.”

“Don’t speak like that!” He gritted through closed teeth, standing up as well.

“It’s the truth,” she cupped his face, “and you knew it was the truth when you proposed. I married the Draco Malfoy who wanted to live his life with me, no matter how short that was. Why did you start hiding now?”

“Because I realised what that really meant, now I just want to wake up next to you for as long as I can. You’re all I have, you’re all I live for.” Astoria felt tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t you see? I don’t need an heir, this legacy,” he gestured around as if forgetting they no longer lived at the manor “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The name I carry, the name I gave to you, has brought me so much pain.”

“I know.” She whispered, “But I don’t want to give birth to an _heir_ , I want to give birth to a child! A child we’ll love and cherish, and you can teach it to fly and play quidditch. And when I’m gone, you’ll have someone else to love, and someone who will love you. You won’t be alone.”

“You’re not serious!” He exclaimed, extracting himself from her arms. “You sound ridiculous, do you even hear yourself? Forget what will happen to me when you’re gone, how can you willingly do this to a child? Can you imagine the pain you’ll put them through?”

“I…”

“No, because you were too busy thinking of what to say to manipulate me!” He stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

“Draco!” Astoria rushed towards him and followed him all the way to the garden. “Draco, turn around, please.” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “People die all the time. If that was truly a worry that stopped procreation the Potters wouldn’t be planning to have children until they have a girl.” She said, quoting an article in _Witch Weekly_ from a month ago, which Astoria found quite a bland way to look at having children – trying until you get a certain outcome seemed crass to her.

“That was an ill-timed joke, and you know it. Pansy fired the journalist and printed a redaction.” He finally turned around all anger disappearing when he saw Astoria, her feet bare, arms wrapped around herself, “Plus, Potter may be an Auror, and his wife may play Quidditch, but neither of them is _certainly_ dying before their 40th birthday.”

“No, they might die tomorrow. We all die, Draco, some of us have just come to terms with it.”

“Well, I haven’t.” He said firmly, before turning away from her again. “Go inside, before you catch a cold.”

“We’ll talk again.”

“No, we won’t,” he said firmly.

“Then we’ll continue this now. Do you even know why I want a child?”

“Yes, because you want to be a mother. You want to see your child grow, read to them, see the first smile, hear the first laugh, fix the mess of their first accidental spell.” His words cut through her like a knife. He knew her better than she knew him, by the sound of it. “You want to take them to Diagon Alley and see their face light up when they get their first wand.” He turned around again, tears streaming down his cheeks, tears his voice hadn’t betrayed.

“Yes, you’re mostly right. Only,” she wiped his tears, and he caught her palm on his cheek before bringing it to his lips for a kiss, “I want to see _our_ kid grow. I want to take _our_ child to Diagon Alley. Don’t you want that?”

“I do,” he admitted, “I do, but what if you don’t get to witness that? What happens if you’re gone before that? When I send them off to Hogwarts each year, I’d just think about how you’re not there. When they graduate, I’d think about how you’re not there. When they get married, have children of their own you won’t be there. How am I supposed to live knowing that…?”

“You’ll be there. You’ll love them, and care for them, and make sure they never forget how much I loved them, no matter how early I go.”

“You already know your death will devastate me – it’ll render me useless. Do you really expect me to take care of a human being?”

“Yes, because you are stronger than you think. And you can do this for yourself, for our child, and most importantly for me.”

“Tori–”

“Last night you promised me whatever I want.” She said firmly, “I want a child. Now, I don’t expect it to happen suddenly and all at once, in fact, I’d be disappointed if all it takes is for me to stop taking my potion.” He gave her a strangled chuckle and pulled her flush to his chest, lifting her, so her feet dangled in the air and she wrapped them around his waist. “I’ll come off the potion, you promise you won’t cast any contraceptive charms, and we’ll see what happens, alright?”

“How do you rope me into your plans, no matter how hard I fight?”

“Draco, I roped you into marriage, when you fought me on every turn. Everything else is a piece of cake.” She’d never admit how much it hurts her to have to do this, to feel like she is manipulating him to choose happiness. “If you don’t object, we can start trying now.” He laughed and adjusted his grip on her, wrapping one arm behind her waist and the other under her thigh.

“You do know I only fought you on your marriage proposal because I thought you deserved better, right? I still think that, but I can only be selfless for so long before I take what I want.” Astoria gently ran a hand through her husband’s hair, before tracing his high cheekbones and strong brow.

“I know, and it only makes me love you more.” She kissed him deeply, trying to convey all her emotions in one kiss.


	3. 30th October 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Descriptions of miscarriage, TW: mentions of blood. Nothing too graphic, but to be cautious, just in case. Graphic descriptions are only in the first paragraph, above the line. The rest is just emotional turmoil.

Astoria shot up in bed, the sharp pain in her abdomen making her double over the edge of the bed to throw up. She flung the covers off her to see her legs were covered in blood and she felt her heart drop as bile rose in her throat again.

“No, no, no…” she whimpered over and over, as Draco stirred next to her, sitting up in bed. She wasn’t sure which pain was worse – the one in her abdomen, or the mental agony that this was happening again.

“Tori?” Draco searched her face for a moment, before following her gaze down to see the blood. “Tori? Astoria, are you in pain?” He asked hurriedly, worry laced in every word and movement, as he tried to get her to look at him and away from the blood. He caught her hands in his, unwillingly covering his hands in her blood.

“The baby, Draco, save her,” she wailed as Draco ran out of the room to wake Healer Adams. His wife’s screams followed him down the hall, as he rapidly slammed his fist against the door, and would follow him in his nightmares for decades afterwards. And so would the memory of the bloody handprints he left in his wake, and the warm slick feeling of Astoria’s blood as it trickled down his arms and fell on his bare feet.

* * *

As the morning sun rose in the sky, Astoria lay in their freshly made bed, as the Healer mixed yet another salve and rubbed it on her stomach and between her thighs. Draco stood by the end of the bed; fists balled at his side. He was furious. Furious at whatever curse had his brilliant and loving wife in this current predicament and at the Healers for noticing that something might be off, but preferring to do nothing, lest it stresses the baby. Most of all, Draco was furious at himself, because when they were getting married, he gave Astoria his word that he would provide for her and protect her from harm, yet here he was, standing helplessly, as his wife’s empty eyes stared at the white ceiling, flinching every time Adams touched her stomach. The Healer covered Astoria with a fresh sheet, and Draco saw a tear roll down his wife’s temple.

“I’ve done everything I can. I’ll call for a specialist from St Mungo’s but for now, you should rest.” Said the healer, disappearing her gloves with a flick of her wrists. “Both of you. You’ve been through a lot tonight.”

“When can we try again?” asked Astoria and Draco’s blood ran cold.

“Mrs Malfoy–” began the healer.

“Never.” Interrupted her Draco, motioning to the Healer with a stiff hand. “You’re dismissed.” The Healer nodded and turned to gather her stuff.

“Draco, you promised me!” insisted Astoria, hands going over her stomach, as he rounded the bed to take the healer’s place. He carefully took in his wife’s strained expression and the hurt in her eyes, listening to Healer Adams close the bedroom door. “You promised me we’d try for as long as it took.”

“I meant we’d try for as long it took for you to get pregnant, but this is just torture. You’re putting yourself through torture, and, after every attempt, I lose a little bit of you.”

“It’ll be worth it, you’ll see.” Said Astoria, so certain in her words, even as she cradled her empty stomach.

“No! Astoria, I love you beyond measure and reason, but I cannot keep doing this! I cannot watch your will to live getting ripped from you, again and again, knowing I’m the one putting you through this.”

“Next time it _will_ work!” she pleaded, hands curling into fists at her still protruding belly. “We got so much further now than we did last time.”

“You can’t be serious!” roared Draco, through maniacal laughter, tears filling his own eyes. He pressed his fists to his eyes, trying to get a grip of himself, desperation washing over him until he collapsed to his knees on the hardwood floor. “We’re going to keep doing this until… what? Until they have to open you up to remove the baby?”

“Don’t speak like that,” she whispered through a sob, bringing her hand to her lips.

“Like what, Tori? Don’t speak the truth? I see what every unsuccessful attempt does to you. I see you checking for blood every time you feel a cramp or have an upset stomach, and I see the fear in your eyes… I don’t know how many more times I can wake up in the middle of the night to you crying out in pain or sorrow.” He caught the hand that was pressed to her lips and held it tight, bringing it to his forehead, not sure who this gesture was supposed to comfort.

“Next time, this will work. It was difficult because it was a girl – some part of her curse must have reacted to mine. We just have to wait for a boy.” _Wait for a boy_ , thought Draco, _what sort of cruel joke was this?_

“I’m not discussing this further.” He said and stood up, relaxing his grip on her hand.

“Don’t leave! Please!” she cried, gripping at his sleeve and wrist, and he quickly climbed into the bed next to her.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He sighed, feeling like someone had gripped his throat and squeezed, “I’m angry, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you alone right now.” He positioned himself, so she could rest her head on his shoulder, and wrapped his arms around her, trying his best not to cause her any more pain. “I’d be lost without you. I’m not going anywhere.” He let her cry herself to sleep and didn’t move until the specialist from St Mungo’s arrived and had to wake her for the exam.

“Mr Malfoy, if I can have a word,” Draco nodded and followed Healer Barkley out of the bedroom and towards the living room. “Thankfully, there hasn’t been any internal damage that can’t be fixed, or that won’t heal on its own, in time. I have given her some Dreamless Sleep, to keep her calm while she rests. She should be sleeping through most of the day, and Healer Adams has prepared her a schedule for her medications for when she wakes. What worries me is that she’s desperate to try again.”

“If you think I can dissuade her, you’re sorely mistaken. My wife is as stubborn as ever.” Said Draco, trying to sound as calm as possible, despite the whirlwind of emotions currently ripping through him so quickly, he couldn’t even process one before the next had taken hold of him.

“I understand that, for a man of your standing, it’s important to–” began tentatively the Healer, but Draco interrupted him.

“This has nothing to do with continuing my bloodline. I don’t care about having a _blood_ _heir_. We want a child for ourselves, Astoria and I, not for the Malfoy name. We’ve tried adoption, but as you can imagine no one wants to let a Death Eater, be he reformed, raise a child if they can help it.” The Healer just nodded.

“I understand you perfectly well, and I assure you that if I had anything that could help, I would suggest it right away. Unfortunately, everything I have researched so far is a dead end.”

“Spit it out, Healer Barkley. I know when you’re circling like a vulture over prey.” The man had been a friend of the Malfoy family for long enough to be able to sus out the man’s motivations.

“There is a potion that you could brew which will certainly improve your wife’s condition during pregnancy. But it is a little… unsavoury.”

“Unsavoury as in illegal or unsavoury as in I can find it only in the Malfoy library?” Asked Draco, rubbing his temples in desperate attempts to get rid of a rapidly approaching headache.

“The latter.” Said Barkley, giving Draco a folded piece of parchment. “As a Healer, I can’t condone the use of this potion, especially by a pregnant woman, as it is untested by the Board for Control of Potion and Substances. Neither can I prescribe it to you. But should you deem it acceptable, and brew it yourself, I see no reason to object its use.”

“Thank you, Healer Barkley.” Said Draco curtly.

“Do let me know if you decide to try again.”

Draco nodded and watched the Healer depart with an even expression. He got dressed, kissed his wife’s forehead, and told the Healer on duty to tell his wife he’s at the Library, should she awake before his return. Flooing to the Malfoy Manor, Draco spent the rest of the day trying to locate the instructions to brew the potion Barkley referenced in the depths of the manor’s library, and some good two hours cursing the man. He had suggested Draco give addictive potions to Astoria, in the hopes that it could trick her body into not rejecting the foetus. Side effects ranged from mild shivers to violent seizures and showed no sign of subsiding, should the use be terminated.

What hurt Draco the most was that he knew Astoria would agree to everything and anything if it offered even the slightest chance of success. He collected every book that mentioned a version of this potion from the library and left,

“Draco, darling, please,” said Narcissa again, just as Draco ha reached the fireplace, “You shouldn’t be there right now, these are female issues. Let her sister and mother handle her.”

“Handle her?” He echoed, spinning in place to face his mother, “She’s not some cattle I need to _handle_. She’s my wife! She is hurt and scared, and I am not going to leave her to deal with this on her own or even with her mother.” He snapped and watched as his mother took a step back, fear written clearly on her face. She was afraid _of_ him, “And I am sorry if Father treated you this way, but his legacy ends here.” Pointedly ignoring his mother’s continued pleas to stay, he stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a fury of green flames.

That night, as he read in the chair next to the fireplace, looking towards Astoria, when she shifted in bed, now and then, he started scheming. He planned to spend the next few months at least _trying_ to find the variation with the least intrusive side effects possible, even if he had to live in the cottage’s basement, before offering it as an option to Astoria. If he could brew a safer version of it, maybe he could give his wife what she wanted without risking her health even more.

Exhausted, Draco closed the book he was reading and leaned his head back, trying to allow the warmth of the fire to calm him down and lure him into a false sense of peace. He pictured Astoria sitting on the grass in the garden and a small boy sitting on her lap. A boy with her honey-blond hair and dazzling blue eyes, waving excitedly at him. Something inside Draco shifted, and he knew he’d grind his own bones and use them in the potion if it would make that dream a reality.


	4. 15th August 2004

“Hermione, who are you looking for?” asked Ginny, having finally fought her way through the crowd around the _hors d’oeuvre_ table. She was quite excited to accompany Hermione to the Governor’s Gala this year – it was her first grown-up affair since James’ birth. She even enjoyed discussing the salmon puffs with a woman who looked to be about a 100-years-old.

“No one, just observing.” Lied Hermione swiftly, smiling at Ginny and trying to stop her eyes from wandering around the room again.

“No one doesn’t seem to be here,” Ginny turned to her, a little worried, placing a hand on her friend’s arm. “Hermione, is everything okay with… I know Ron can be–”

“Ginny, no! I’m not cheating on Ron!” exclaimed Hermione, before grabbing her friend’s arm, dragging Ginny out of the Great Hall, and down one of the Hogwarts’ familiar corridors. “I might be cheating on you, but I’d never cheat on Ron.” Assured Hermione.

“Forget my brother, what do you mean you're cheating on me?” Asked Ginny through a laugh. Ginny might have had a bit more to drink than she originally planned to.

“You know how I’ve been ditching you for this gala in the last three years?” Ginny nodded, only slightly confused. “Well, the first time was because I really needed to focus on getting people to back my bill and donate to the research. And, if you had been there, I would have just hung out with you.”

“Yes, and the fact that you managed to get all your funding supported by only two donors is why I’m not really angry at you.” Said Ginny, poking Hermione’s shoulder.

“Well, yeah, and that someone is who I’ve been cheating on you with. I only get to see her once or twice a year, and we don’t really talk about anything personal, but she listens to my proposals and gives me feedback. She can accurately predict what the Wizengamot’s reaction would be and what I need to stress, or gloss over, to get them on my side.” Said Hermione, gesticulating excitedly.

“How does she do that? Is she clairvoyant?”

“No, she’s just part of that world. Deeply steeped in it. She’s smart and kind, but ruthless when it comes to my ideas. She’s talked me out of several of my more dangerous moves.”

“So? Sounds like you’ve finally found the person to pester about work.” Ginny was silent for a moment before speaking again. “But she’s not here, so you feel abandoned or maybe worried. And you brought me here tonight, so you hoped we’d meet.” Jinny jumped up and clapped, “Oh, I love having my full brainpower back! For the whole pregnancy, it was like I had the attention span of a goldfish, and I couldn’t follow even the plot of a silly harlequin novel.”

“In your defence, those can be a little difficult to follow,” chuckled Hermione.

“And you're sure she’s not here?”

“No, but neither is her husband, so maybe they just didn’t want to deal with all this.” Ginny nodded and hugged Hermione before letting her lead them back to the Great Hall.

“Mrs Potter, Mrs Granger. I was afraid you had left before I had the chance to pester you.” One of the Governors ambushed them, just outside the Hall doors.

“Governor Greengrass, it’s a pleasure,” smiled Hermione. Nothing made her feel like she belonged somewhere more than seeing women holding power.

“Greengrass? You made Governor?” asked Ginny, sounding quite impressed.

“Just recently. The youngest woman on the board.” Daphne spread her arms slightly and bowed her head. “Mrs Potter, congratulations on the baby. How is motherhood treating you?”

“Amazing, though, I sometimes miss sleeping in. But James’ smile is enough to make up for everything – nothing can compare really.”

“So I’ve heard.” Said Daphe with a sad smile. “When’s the next one coming? I read the article _and_ the reprint.”

“Not for a few years.” Laughed Ginny, “I don’t think I can do two so close together.”

“Good to know. We’ll be looking forward to rebuilding the school to its former glory by the time James is 11. And Mrs Granger,” Daphne turned to Hermione, “I’ve heard rumours that you’re on your way to becoming the youngest Minister.”

“I won’t go that far – I’m still fairly comfortable in my current job.” Hermione had heard those rumours, as well, and really didn’t enjoy them. There was something quite sinister about hearing untrue rumours about yourself, especially if they were printed in the papers.

“I’m sorry your silent benefactors couldn’t be here tonight,” Daphne said, voice a little too even, before smiling slightly. “But I know at least one of them is starved for entertainment and would love to read about your new plans.”

“I’ll make sure to arrange that.” Said Hermione relaxing some, and Daphne nodded. “It was great seeing you, Governor Greengrass.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” with a slight bow, Daphne continued to make her rounds around the room.

“So you might be getting your advice after all.” Whispered Ginny, hooking Hermione’s arm through hers and leading her towards the champagne fountain.

A few hours later, Hermione managed to find Daphne alone.

“Is everything alright? With Astoria.” She asked, hiding her lips behind the rim of her champagne glass.

“She’s been trying to get pregnant, but it’s not going so well. She’ll be taking a break from social events, what with all the stress they cause her.” Said Daphne, almost too quietly, before locking eyes with Hermione. “But she really does want to hear your new bill. She wants to leave a better world for her child, and she is convinced you’re one of the people who will pave the way. I can’t say those of us, who listen to the way she talks about your plans, disagree.” Hermione nodded with a smile, and she made her way to Ginny.

That conversation lit a fire in Hermione. A fire she hadn’t felt for a while. She _would_ change the world – for James and Ginny’s future children, for her own, Astoria’s, and every other child. The next morning, she addressed a copy of the proposal for her newest bill to Daphne Greengrass after she realised she didn’t even know where Astoria lived. Later that same night, she received it back with notes and used the 40 minutes it took for the dinner to cook, to eagerly glance over everything. Ron would have usually grumbled about bringing work home, but Hermione had been ecstatic. He just sat at the kitchen table, watching his wife review her notes while leaning on the counter.


	5. 3rd September 2005

Draco was sitting up in bed, drinking his morning coffee and flipping through his paper as Astoria drank her potion and began casting charm after charm, checking on the baby. With the use of the augmented potion, Astoria’s pregnancy was progressing smoothly, for the most part, and there hadn’t been many side effects. Even so, Draco was hesitant to relax fully.

“He’s all fine. Settled in here, nice and cosy.” She said with a content sigh as she settled down next to her husband. Draco left his cup to float in the air next to his head and placed his hand on Astoria’s stomach. He felt a kick under his fingers and smiled. “I feel him moving so much more when you place your hand there.”

“Maybe he’s squirmish,” said Draco offhandedly.

“Or maybe he gets excited every time he feels you,” Astoria sounded so happy and content Draco felt himself melt inside.

“I think you’re the one getting excited every time I touch you.” Said Draco with a smirk and a wiggle of his brows, earning himself a slap on the chest.

“Any news?” She asked sarcastically, glancing at the newspaper floating in front of his face. She always mocked him about his decision to start levitating the paper instead of holding it.

“Ginny Potter,” he began reading, “gave birth to a healthy baby boy – I guess they’d have to go again soon if they want a girl – called Al…” Draco brought the paper closer to his face as if he couldn’t read it clearly, “Albus Severus Potter. Alright, that’s got to be a misprint, right?”

“Albus Severus? I mean, I know Dumbledore was very dear to the Potters but Snape? The man was terrible and openly hostile towards Potter. Even I remember that.” Mused Astoria, furrowing her brows.

“Maybe they’ve officially lost it,” shrugged Draco, “James Sirius was a strange choice, but I understand that – naming him after Potter’s father and Godfather was acceptable. Especially since they were decent people. But this… Poor child. It’s not enough he has his father’s life achievements hanging over his head, but now this.” Astoria hummed in agreement stroking her stomach around Draco’s hand as Draco continued reading silently.

“What do you think of the name Rose?” Asked Astoria after a few minutes of silence.

“It’s a girl’s name,” he noted absently, turning the page with a flip of his fingers and reaching for the cup of coffee.

“I know that,” she said, rolling her eyes, “It’s not for him. It’s for…a friend.”

“Do you have any pregnant friends?” Asked Draco, despite knowing who Astoria was referring to – Granger was a few months behind Astoria in her pregnancy, and up until this morning and the birth of _Albus Severus Potter,_ she had been a prominent fixture in the gossip column. But he wasn’t supposed to know of the strange friendship between the Golden Girl and his wife. Astoria went to exceptional lengths to keep it out of all conversations, so he kept silent as well.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, “she’s having a girl and is thinking of naming her Rose.”

“It’s a beautiful name.” On its own, it wasn’t a name he would have chosen, but it sounded like it would suit Granger and any offspring of hers. It was simple enough for her, and her husband wasn’t likely to confuse it with something else. But there was a certain amount of pride in its simplicity.

“For a boy, they’re thinking Hugo,” said Astoria.

“Good thing we’re not thinking of names like that, right?” In fact, they hadn’t discussed names, and this conversation was setting him slightly on edge. With everything that had happened they wanted to wait as much as possible, but perhaps it was time.

“We’re not,” she agreed, “I’ve been looking into the Black family tradition of naming children after constellations since neither the Greengrass nor the Malfoy clan has a tradition.”

“When do you have the time for research like that?”

“What do you think I do in the study all day while you’re brewing in the basement?” She asked, twisting her head to look at him through narrowed eyes. He shrugged and glanced sideways at her.

“I don’t know. I try not to pry into your solo activities – the books you read and the number of teacups you leave in the study are between you and the house-elf.” He saw her blush at his comment and smirked.

"How chivalrous of you," she deadpanned.

“It takes a lot of effort, as well. Anyway, considering the current heir to the Black fortune is named Edward and nicknamed Teddy, I don’t think there is much of a tradition left there,” he snorted. He’d first met Teddy when he was a toddler - his aunt extended a dinner invitation to him and Astoria. Astoria was ecstatic, perhaps that’s what began her ‘baby fever’. After that, there was the occasional visit and once he even minded the child, while Andromeda went for a check-up at St Mungo’s.

“Nevertheless, I was thinking about it, and there are some really beautiful names related to space and the stars.”

“Will you share with the class?” Draco folded the newspaper, putting it away and placed his cup of coffee on the bedside table.

“Oberon sounds very regal. Or Proteus,” she said dreamily.

“My son will not be named Proteus,” said Draco firmly, but his voice softened, “Oberon doesn’t sound bad, but it might be a little too close to Orion.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just saying. What else?” he mused, tapping a finger on Astoria’s belly, “There is always Ares, after the Greek god of courage and battle spirit.” She didn’t seem to like that very much.

“How about Helios, and we can call him Elio.” Draco liked the sound of Elio but not of Helios.

“Or we just see what stars he is born under.” He suggested.

“That does sound good. He’s due early December, so that is…" She sighed, failing to remember the correct position of the stars in December. "Maybe we need a map.” 

“I’ll get one,” Draco kissed the top of her head and headed to the study. He produced a segmented map of the night sky out of a stack of maps and charmed it to reflect the sky in the first two weeks of December. He also grabbed a vial of the potion. On his way back to the bedroom, he said his usual prayer that this one won’t be the one that causes damage. He opened the map on the bed and admired Astoria as she gathered her hair in a ponytail before manoeuvring around to kneel in front of the map.

“This is annoying,” she huffed when she realised she couldn’t see much of it, no matter how she kneeled.

“Yes, I think you’re eclipsing several constellations,” she cut her eyes at him and lifted one side of her mouth in a mock sneer. “Alright, let me fix it. Lay back” he took his wand and levitated the map over her head, before joining her on the bed.

“It’s like looking at the night sky when he’ll be born,” she said. A small giggle escaping her when the baby kicked again.

“That’s the point, Tori.” He whispered as they studied the map. “There’s Kaus,” He pointed to one of the brighter stars at the lower bow of Sagittarius. A sharp intake from Astoria and Draco’s head snapped to look at her. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said on an exhale, “I think it’s only fake contractions. Here, feel,” she took his hand and placed it on her lower stomach so he could feel the contracting of the muscles. “It’s a good sign, Draco. That, and his kicks.” Draco leaned towards her stomach and kissed it ever so lightly.

“Can we please have Healer Adams look at you? I’m sure I saw her walking in the garden.” She nodded and Draco went to get the Healer, heart thundering in his ears.


	6. 23rd November 2005

At exactly a quarter to seven, and after almost 12 hours of agonising labour, Astoria gave birth to a baby boy. Draco was beyond himself with worry as Astoria drifted in and out of consciousness. The Healers had to push him out of their way to tend to the mother and the baby. His son was born a few weeks prematurely, but after performing all the necessary checks twice, upon Draco’s insistence, Healer Adams said he was a healthy baby boy. She then proceeded to cast several charms on the cot in the bedroom and placed the crying baby inside.

“Give me your hands, Mr Malfoy,” said Healer Adams gently, drawing his attention away from his wife and towards herself.

“Why?” He asked, unable to process anything beyond the danger hanging over Astoria life.

“So I can clean them, and you can touch your son,” Draco’s brow furrowed further.

“Can’t you pick him up? I thought he was fine.”

“He is, but breathing on his own is still a little difficult for him. Most babies need a little help at first,” as if sensing his worry, Adams took his hands herself and continued explaining with a soothing and calm voice. “For a while, he will sleep in an environment that is rich in oxygen just as a precaution. I’ll keep checking on him, but I don’t think he’ll need to be there for long,” after she had cleaned Draco’s hands, she guided one of them inside the cot. The air inside felt slightly warmer, but Draco found himself unable to touch the baby – the baby that was fine while Astoria was fighting for her life. He retreated his hands behind his back and stepped away from the cot, looking back at his wife.

“He’ll be fine? Nothing’s wrong with him?” He asked in a strained voice. Astoria would never forgive him if he didn’t check thoroughly.

“As far as we can tell right now, he’s a perfectly healthy baby,” He nodded absently, “He is well and comfortable.”

Astoria, however, was not well. She was rapidly losing blood, still going in and out of consciousness, and after struggling to stabilise her, Healer Barkley had begun prepping her to be moved to St Mungo’s. As two Mediwitches were carting his wife away and Healer Adams took his son to the nursery, Draco found himself feeling empty and lost, facing a decision on who to follow. He was about to go after Astoria and Barkley when, as if he knew what was about to happen, his son cried out and Astoria opened her eyes, looking directly at Draco.

“Stay with him,” she whispered, voice hoarse, “He needs to know he’s not alone. Show him the stars,” _they never settled on a name_ , thought Draco, “Stay with him,” she repeated, and the Healer took her away with the promise to keep Draco in the loop every step of the way. When Astoria and Barkley disappeared, he entered the nursery, just as the baby’s Healer was wrapping him up in a bundle.

“Can I hold him now?” asked Draco, voice cracking.

“I insist on it,” said the Healer with a warm smile. Draco liked her, she was kind and never judged him for his past, or pitied him and Astoria. She walked over to him and nodded towards the armchair next to the window. He sat down and copied the way her arms were folded. “Very good, just lift the right elbow some more,” he adjusted his arms, and she gently placed the small bundle in his arms. Looking down at his son Draco’s breath hitched, and he felt his heart simultaneously break and mend. “I’ll be in the next room if you need me.”

When the Healer left him, he ran the tip of his nose over his son’s head in a gesture that felt as instinctive as breathing before kissing his forehead. The words he said to his mother months ago echoed through his head. _His legacy ends here._ He needed to be better than his father was, and currently, Lucius’ example was all he knew of fatherhood. So he did what his father never did for him – he held his son tight and spoke to him gently.

“I promise you I’ll be better than my father was because you deserve to grow up loved and cared for,” he whispered as his son opened his eyes, and Draco stared in awe as one brilliant blue and one steel grey eye blinked at him. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to save your mum, and believe me, if I could, I’d trade my life for hers,” the baby scrunched up its face and started crying. “No, no, shh,” he swayed back and forth for a while, and the baby’s wails slowly dropped to an occasional mewl. “I don’t know what your name would be yet. All I can tell you is that your mum wants it to be something celestial. You’ll soon find out your mum is a brilliant and stubborn witch who always gets what she wants,” the baby seemed to agree, as it wiggled one small arm out of the bundle and stretched it over its head, opening its mouth in a yawn.

Draco sat and marvelled at his son, long after the sun rose in the sky, trying to reconcile the strong pull he felt toward this, baby which just began its life and the horrible manner in which he came to this world. Astoria had been right. Looking at the wisps of blond hair and its different-coloured eyes, seeing the baby try out every muscle in its face, made up for the struggles they faced to get here. But it didn’t ease Draco’s guilt over the potions he brewed and fed to his wife. It didn’t erase the pain and the countless nights he prayed to any deity who would listen to keep his wife alive. And now, staring at the miracle sleeping in his arms, he felt like he wasn’t worthy to hold him, wasn’t worthy of the baby’s trust, as it slept soundly, squeezing the placket of Draco’s shirt in its small fist. Not just because of who he had been as a child, or because of the faded mark on his forearm. But because if it had come down to a choice between the life of his wife or that of his unborn child, he would have chosen Astoria. The thought sickened him to his core now that his son was in his arms.

“Mr Malfoy?” the Healer popped her head into the nursery, and Draco turned sharply, tightening his hold on the baby, “Healer Barkley checked in. He said they’ve stabilised Mrs Malfoy. You can go see her if you like. I’ll stay with your son,” Draco desperately wanted to, but he imagined what Astoria would say to him and how she’d chastise him for leaving their son on the day of his birth.

“When can she come back home?” He asked with a sigh.

“I don’t know, but you should go. He’s safe here,” Draco considered it, and to his surprise discovered that the thought of letting the baby out of his sight scared him. He trusted Adams but leaving the baby he held in his arms even for a moment, seemed unbearable and he finally understood why Astoria used to cradle her belly the way she did.

“Is he still available for a floo call?” The Healer nodded, and Draco let her hold the baby but asked her to come with him. “Healer Barkley, is she alright?” He asked the man still visible in the flames of the fireplace.

“We stopped the bleeding and we’re transferring some blood to counter the loss. Unfortunately, she had a seizure, so the process was slower than anticipated, but she can go home as early as tonight, should you request so.”

“I do,” said Draco firmly, “As early as possible, all care she needs will be provided here. Draw up your list of personnel, assemble your team, and bring her home.” Draco glanced sideways to where Adams was standing with the baby.

“Of course,” nodded Barkley and disappeared as the flames died down. For the rest of the day, Draco didn’t take his eyes off his son and memorised Healer Adams’ every instruction from how to hold him to how to change his diapers.

“Mr Malfoy, can I ask you a personal question?” Asked Adams tentatively as she helped him feed the baby correctly.

“I suppose you can ask. But I might not answer,” responded Draco, trying not to let his anxiety rise to the surface. He had discovered that his son would respond to his anxiety by crying.

“I have delivered many heirs to families of a status similar to yours and tended to many mothers in–”

“Adams, speak plainly, please,” he interrupted, trying to sound calm.

“Alright,” she said, dropping the sweetness in her voice, “Your involvement in your son’s care, especially at such an early stage, is uncommon for a man of your standing.”

“That was not a question,” he said with a smirk. He knew there was a reason Astoria had requested Adams every time, and her candour must be part of it.

“Why? Please don’t misunderstand me, I think it is important for a child to feel loved by both his parents, but I’m afraid of what would happen if you decide the old ways are better. It will impact the child greatly, should you pull away from him, even at an early age,” he looked into her eyes and saw nothing but pure concern. He understood, he really did.

“I… I grew up in a household that was cold and distant, my father didn’t pay attention to me until I was seven, and then it was all about teaching me to be quiet, stand still, not speak. My mother only ever paid me any mind when we were around people, who complimented me as if I was a piece of the décor,” he looked down at the baby, seeing that his bottle was almost empty, but he had stopped drinking and was slowly falling asleep. “Look at where that got me in life. I will do everything I wished my parents had done for me.”

“That is very admirable. He’s a very lucky boy, who needs a name.”

“I’m waiting for his mother,” said Draco, setting the bottle down and manoeuvred the baby, a little unsteadily, to rest him on his shoulder.

“Then perhaps a nickname? We can’t keep calling him ‘baby’, now, can we?”

“Astrum,” said Draco without hesitation, “ _Per Aspera ad Astra_ , and getting here was certainly a hardship,” the Healer nodded and helped him adjust the baby.

“ _Non est ad Astra mollis e terries via_ ,” she said, taking the bottle. _No easy way from Earth to the stars,_ _indeed_ , thought Draco, rubbing the baby’s back.

That afternoon Astoria arrived home, still asleep, and Draco greeted her with their son in his arms. The baby stretched and squirmed, and Draco let him lay on his mother’s chest, as he sat next to her in their bed. At nightfall, Adams brought the baby’s cot to the bedroom and placed it on Astoria’s side of the bed, and placed the sleeping baby inside.

“Rest, you haven’t slept in more than 24 hours. Astrum will be right here,” she said quietly. Draco reluctantly dropped his head on the pillow, interlacing his fingers through Astoria’s and bringing them up to his lips.


	7. 24th November 2005

When Draco woke up in the middle of the night, it was to the quiet whispers of Astoria. She had picked up the baby from his crib, or possibly Adams had given him to her, and now cradled him against her breast.

“–you’ll grow up running in the garden, and I’ll read to you every night until you get tired of me, and even though it will break my heart, it will make me so proud. I will always be proud of you, and so will your dad,” she said lovingly. “You’ll need to be patient with him. He is often more scared than he will let on, but he will love you more than anything in the world. And when I’m gone, I want you to be there for each other because he will feel lost for a while. Can you do that? Can you be patent with him while he gets to know you?” She rubbed the baby’s back, and Draco saw its little fist twitch.

“He must find your voice as soothing as I do.” He whispered, bringing his finger to stroke the baby’s fist. “How are you feeling? Do you hurt anywhere?”

“No, Draco, I’m fine. I’m better than fine.” She sounded tired but happy.

“Barkley told me you had a seizure.”

“Everything is fine. Adams said the Healers repeated the tests and charms before leaving and that I was in pretty much the same condition I was a few days ago,” Draco nodded and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek before resting his forehead against her temple, just feeling her breathe next to him.

“He needs a name.” She whispered.

“Adams and I have been calling him Astrum for the day.” He said, leaning his head to watch Astrum’s back rise and fall with his breaths.

“He is out little star, isn’t he?”

“He’s our whole universe now,” said Draco, wiping the tear that had begun to fall down her cheek. “Are you in pain?” He asked again. She shook her head with a smile.

“No. Just happy that you love him. When they were taking me to St Mungo’s I saw your face, and I was afraid… I was afraid you’d blame him for everything,” she tried her best not to sob as to not wake the sleeping baby.

“None of this is his fault,” whispered Draco, “No one in their right mind could think he’s the harbinger of any evil.” He listened to her breathing as it calmed down before speaking again. “So, did we settle on anything under Sagittarius?”

“No, but I was thinking since my labour began under Scorpius...”

“Scorpius… Scorpius Malfoy. I like it.”

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.”

“We’ll circle back to the middle name.”

“Circle all you want. I already owled our parents,” She said with a sly smile.

“You… You named my son without me?” He feigned offence, even as his lips stretched in a wide smile.

“I could see you tracing the constellation at night. You would sneak out of bed and sit by that map, thinking I was asleep. I figured you would like it.”

“I do,” said Draco, moving closer to her, and placing a hand on her hip, “And I love you. Both of you.”

At nine o’clock, Hermione walked from the Ministry floo network to the elevators. Waddled was more likely – she felt huge, despite everyone telling her otherwise. Especially Ron, who just kept saying she’s never looked more beautiful. As a result, he has been sleeping on the couch for a week now. Hermione refused to spend the night with someone who thought his wife was more beautiful when she was the size of an adolescent elephant than she used to be when she could still tie her shoes without the aid of a chair. Rationally, of course, she knew she wasn’t _that_ big, but rational thought had been of little help when her hormones were raging.

Hermione was tired, grumpy, and her lower back hurt. And for the 607 steps it takes her now to walk from the fireplaces to the elevators, she heard Voldemort’s name whispered 23 times. For the first three, she thought she had imagined it and was just paranoid because of the pregnancy. But then it kept jumping out at her, and it was making her skin crawl. She had put exceptional efforts into overcoming her trauma, and this was not helping her. Everyone fell silent when she made it in the elevator, and all the way to level 4, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

“Alright, will someone explain to me what the bloody hell is going on?” She asked, slamming the folder she was carrying on her desk when she made it to the office space she shared with five other people from the DRCMC. Everyone in the room turned to look at her.

“Hermione, why are you here? You should be at home, resting,” said Dal, startled by her sudden appearance. She ignored him. She was pregnant, not on her deathbed.

“Why is everyone whispering Voldemort’s name like it’s 1996?”

“Hermione, it’s nothing. Just a silly rumour,” chimed in Margot, earning herself a piercing look from Hermione.

“I’m sorry if I can’t comprehend how, in just eight short years, _his_ name became worthy only of a silly rumour. And I’d really like to know why I risked my life to kill the genocidal maniac, only for people to pad up their _silly rumours_ with him,” Margot handed her today’s _Prophet_ , open on a specific page, before quickly averting her eyes.

_FORMER DEATH EATER, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY AND WIFE ASTORIA CASPIAN MALFOY WELCOME A SON. SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY WAS BORN THE MALFOYS’ HOME, AT QUARTER TO SEVEN, ON 23 RD NOVEMBER. ASTORIA WAS PROMPTLY TAKEN TO ST MUNGO’S, AFTER A DIFFICULT BIRTH. NO ONE HAS SEEN THE BOY OR HIS FATHER YET. _

“Congratulations to the new parents,” said Hermione, dropping the newspaper on the desk. “I still don’t get it. It’s a very passive-aggressive column in the gossip section, I’m sure you can find my name on the following page along with my lunch order yesterday,” she pushed the paper until it toppled off her desk and into the rubbish bin.

“Well, some people are saying that–” began Margot but was promptly interrupted by a choir of voices shushing her.

“I am hardly a patient woman on my good days,” began Hermione slowly, “I hope to Merlin and Morgana that motherhood forces me to work on that, but if someone doesn’t tell me what the connection is between a baby born 28 hours ago and Voldemort, I will lose my shit.”

“They’re saying he’s Voldemort’s son.” Said Dal. At least he had the decency to look quite uncomfortable and was twisting in his chair back and forth. Hermione blinked slowly a couple of times trying to process the news. Dal took it as an invitation to elaborate. “Everyone knew Astoria had trouble conceiving because of the curse, and since Malfoy locked her away like she’s a fairy-tale princess or something, rumours started that he was trying to bring back the Dark Lord–”

“Voldemort,” interjected Hermione, out of reflex.

“Yes, sorry, Voldemort. Then, she had a difficult birth and, apparently, she lost a lot of blood as if the child tore its way out of her, and since no one’s seen the child,” Dal shrugged, and shook his head, “The gist of it is that, allegedly, Malfoy used a time-turner to go back in time and…” he met Hermione’s eyes and immediately shut up.

“That’s utter bullshite,” muttered Hermione, ”Who started that rumour?” She asked quietly. Everyone shrugged. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, if I hear any of you repeat that rumour or contribute to its growth and development, I will personally make you regret the day we won the war. Do you understand?” Everyone nodded. Hermione turned on her heel, marched out of the room and headed straight to level 2, where she burst into Harry’s newly assigned solo office. He was already talking with Ron, so this would be fun.

“Blimey, Hermione, is everything alright?” asked Ron, immediately going to hug her.

“Yes, Ron,” she said, running a hand up her husband’s arm, before turning to Harry with a withering stare. He groaned and leaned back in his chair, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“I knew this would happen. You’ve heard the rumours, I take it?” He said, carefully putting his glasses back on.

“Good to know you have as well.” She said with the spite of someone accusing you of witnessing a murder and just walking away. Ron backed away from her slowly and sat down. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” said Harry, looking anywhere but at her.

“What do you mean ‘nothing’? Are you telling me hearing people whisper _his_ name all the time doesn’t set you on edge?”

“It’s a rumour, Hermione,” said Harry, gesturing to the empty chair next to Ron, “I don’t enjoy it, but I can’t very well arrest everyone who repeats it.”

“What about the source?” She asked, leaning on the back of the chair. If she sat, she might not get up soon. “Can we do anything about that?”

“Technically. If I have solid evidence or get a confession, and if Malfoy wants to press charges on the grounds of slander, then I could do something. But that won’t stop the rumour. It’ll blow over in a couple of weeks, people are just bored,” Harry looked at her with furrowed brows. “Why do you care so much, it’s not like you and Malfoy are suddenly pals. He spends a few Galleons funding your projects to pay off his guilt, and now you feel like you need to protect your sponsor?” Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry.

“Whatever Malfoy has done to me, or for me, is irrelevant. We’re talking about a child born yesterday, who will spend the rest of his life labelled Voldemort’s child. What if it was Albus or James that they were spreading rumours about?” Harry looked guilty as he stared at his desk, “When rumours were being spread about Teddy, you were the first up in arms. Is this time different because of his father’s transgressions towards you, or do you just not care because you’re not related to the kid?” It was a low blow, and Hermione knew it. She was just too enraged right now to retract it.

“No, I…” Harry sighed, “I’ll look into it, see what I can find. But unless they print it somewhere, I can’t make a statement – it’ll just draw more attention to the rumour.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione.

“You should consider the preposition Robards sent you,” added Harry when she was at the door, “You can do a lot of good working to change laws and legislations that limit people rather than creatures.”

“I’ll think on it,” said Hermione, opening the door, “Have a nice day,” she stormed out of the office and the Ministry building. With every whispered _Voldemort_ she heard, she lost a little more of her composure.

Hermione roamed around Central London aimlessly until she stumbled upon a small muggle shop that made personalised embroidery and had a brilliant idea. She walked in and requested a simple design and initials on a strip of baby-blue fabric. The woman behind the counter, seeing that Hermione was pregnant, beamed at her.

“What is the ribbon for?” asked the woman while looking through the sample fabrics for the best baby blue.

“I’m sorry?” Asked Hermione looking up from her attempts at sketching the design. She was glad she had paid enough attention in Astronomy classes.

“Do you want to tie it around something or hang it over the crib?” Clarified the woman.

“Oh, umm…” Hermione hadn’t thought that far, she had just imagined a strip, around three fingers wide. “A bookmark. I want it to look like a big bookmark, but still be functional. I’m sorry if I’m not making sense.”

“Not a problem dear, I think I understand you perfectly. Something like this?” The woman folded a piece of light blue fabric, smoothing it on the counter before Hermione. “About this wide, and I can fold the ends like this,” she drew a pointed edge with her nail.

“That would be perfect,” said Hermione with a smile, “I’m ready with the design,” she showed the woman her drawing and she smiled.

“Are those constellations?” Hemione nodded. “Is this the Greater Bear?”

“It’s Draco. And this one is Scorpius.”

“Oh dear, you sure do know your constellations.”

“It was a passion of mine in school. A friend just had a baby boy and I wanted to get her something special.”

“That is quite sweet. And your children are going to be close enough in age so you could arrange playdates. Isn’t that charming?” Hermione nodded, a little sullenly. She knew the chances of that were next to zero. “Do you want the embroidery done in a gold thread? To resemble stars even more.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Smiled Hermione and paid for the bookmark.

Several hours later, having had lunch at a bistro near Covent Garden, followed by a cup of hot chocolate and a churro in St James’ park, Hemione returned to the shop to collect her bookmark. When she got home, she tucked it into the copy of her latest proposal and sent it off to Daphne, with a small note to wish Astoria and her growing family well. She received a small note back, written by Daphne, which said that Scorpius was as sweet-tempered as a baby could be, with whisps of white-blonde hair, and two different-coloured eyes. Attached was also a thank you card from Astoria, saying how much she loves the gift.

Hermione made a mental note to look up the scientific name for multi-coloured eyes and write to Astoria again. She leaned back in her desk chair and stroked her stomach, trying to feel exactly where little Rose was positioned. With a sigh she stood up and headed downstairs, to find Ron sitting on the couch, reading a Quidditch magazine. She silently sat next to him and leaned on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and Ron immediately discarded the magazine to hug her tightly, “I’m sorry that I’m a hormonal mess. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he kissed the top of her head, “Is everything alright?”

“Just, with the pregnancy and everything, I sometimes forget to tell you I love you.” She said and placed her hand in his. “Come to bed?”

“Oh, thank you,” he sighed with relief, “This couch is quite uncomfortable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rant time, feel free to ignore.
> 
> Aside from the ridiculousness of The Cursed Child's plot, one thing I really didn't understand was the way the adults and especially the Golden Trio, handled the rumour that Scorpius was Voldemort's kid. Do you mean to tell me that Harry 'people always discussed rumours about me, and it gave me so much trauma' Potter would do nothing? Or Hermione 'I'll help every living creature, or so help me God' Granger, would just shrug and go 'Oh well, the sins of the father'? I call bullshit.  
> And, since Malfoy had gone to the Ministry to ask them to denounce the rumour, that means it is a well-known thing, and Ministry officials know about it. So, I head-canon that Hermione makes it her personal mission to work on dismantling the rumour because this is a CHILD we're talking about, and no one deserves this type of bullying.
> 
> Rant over. If you got this far, let me know what you think. ❤


	8. 4th June 2010

Hermione walked into her office at the DMLE to find the copy of her latest proposal returned to her unopened and unmarked by the looks of it. Along with it in her office were Daphne Greengrass and Harry Potter sitting on her small sofa. Not entirely unusual, Daphne had been working closely with her on improving Hogwarts’ rules regarding muggle-born students. This proposal was supposed to somehow convince the puritanical purebloods on the Wizengamot that they should vote for the introduction of Wizarding summer camps for children under the age of 11. The first draft was returned to her in a peculiar condition – all ink had been magicked away, except for the sentence ‘Wizarding summer camps’ and with a red pen it also said ‘ALL children, it’s more likely to get their attention’. Hermione spent weeks after that, carefully redrafting it. She hadn't expected it to be easy, but this seemed almost ridiculous.

Yet, this wasn’t the usual visit from Daphne. For one, she usually came in with some sort of fancy baked goods she picked up from a bakery nearby. But the biggest giveaway was that she was not wearing her usual official robes – she had a floor-length dress and a coat. Her eyes were red, and her fingers were tightly laced in her lap. Hermione hadn’t seen Daphne cry since the Battle of Hogwarts more than a decade ago.

“Daphne? Is everything alright?” Asked Hermione, crossing her office quickly and tossing her bag over the proposal.

“She wanted to speak to you directly,” said Harry, taking one of Daphne’s hands and trying to comfort her, “I take it you haven’t read the papers.”

“No, I didn’t have the time. I’m listening,” said Hermione, but Daphne didn’t speak, just pointed to today’s _Prophet_. A paper Hermione had developed a particular disdain towards in the last years. She picked it up and saw what had upset Daphne so. Someone had tried to break the wards of Draco Malfoy’s cottage and had painted the outside wall with the words _YOUR SON WILL PAY FOR YOUR SINS_ , in what resembled blood. “Was anyone hurt?” Scorpius had to be around four, four and a half by now. Had he been home?

“No, but… Draco took them to France. There is a Malfoy villa there, with wards over all the land, not just the house.”

“Good, they’ll be safe there,” said Hermione, taking a seat behind her desk and dipping her quill in ink. “I’ll request a cross-reference of this writing and any similar vandalism, from the past few years. We might get a match.”

“I’ll go see if the analysis of the paint is ready,” said Harry standing up and releasing Daphne’s hand.

“That’s not blood?” asked Hermione, taking another closer look at the paper.

“No, just made to look like it in photographs. I was on the scene earlier this morning and I can vouch that it looks nothing like blood in person. Somehow it looks far more disgusting,” Hermione nodded, and Harry disappeared, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t suppose any of the Malfoys would give statements,” said Hermione, folding her written request and letting it fly under the door and towards its destination. Daphne shook her head.

“They’ve already gone. Draco arranged it right away, didn’t even wait for the Aurors to arrive,” she sighed, running a hand through her messy ponytail.

“You were there?” Asked Hermione. A manila folder flew under the door and landed on Hermione’s desk.

“I was visiting for a birthday. I was going to mind Scorpius while Draco and Astoria went to dinner, but…” Daphne’s voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find out if the threat is real, or if someone was just trying to get their five-minute fame in the papers,” said Hermione, looking Daphne in the eyes, trying to convey some sense of calm to her. “I have some questions if you don’t mind answering them.”

“No, anything, if you think it’ll help,” said Daphne, straightening her back. Hermione nodded and opened the folder. Inside, stapled to the cover, was the form she needed to fill. A form made especially for cases like this. Its purpose was to help the DMLE sort through attacks on people, who had made a wrong choice more than a decade ago. Many of them had been her classmates – kids like her, forced to choose between their families and solitude. Sometimes Hermione worried how much good she was actually doing and if she wasn’t being deliberately sidetracked. 

“Have there been any threats previous to this one?” Hermione read the first question.

“No, no threats. There have, however, been a few cases of verbal abuse, usually in Diagon Alley. Gringotts, to be more specific.” Hermione nodded again and jotted that down on a piece of parchment she then attached to the form.

“Were those in the same vein as this?” Hermione gestured to the paper. _Did someone threaten a child?_ , she thought. Daphne shook her head. “Alright. Do you have any idea who the perpetrator might be?”

“The list of people who don’t like Draco is not short and stretches on both sides of the war,” said Daphne. “But I can’t imagine who would hurt Scorpius, even to get back at his father,” Hermione nodded again, folding her arms over the file.

“I know, but at this stage, we can’t overlook anyone. Plus, whoever it was, might have just wanted to scare Malfoy.”

“I’ll draw up a list tonight,” nodded Daphne. Hermione went through the rest of the questions, trying to be as respectful as possible.

“That is all for now. I’ll make sure you are notified if there are any developments. If you can get a written statement from Draco and Astoria soon, it might help us. Anything they might have seen or heard. Or if anyone stands out as suspicious to them,” said Hermione, duplicating the folder and sending the carbon copy to Harry. She escorted Daphne to the floo network before heading to see how far Harry had gotten with the paint analysis.

Hermione was halfway through a sandwich she had settled for in place of lunch when her secretary knocked once and popped her head through the door.

“Mrs Granger, you have a visitor,” Hermione noted that the girl looked borderline terrified and sighed, putting her sandwich away.

“Thank you, Clara, they can come in,” she said and Clara disappeared. A few moments later the door opened, and in walked Draco Malfoy, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He looked calm and collected. A little too calm and collected. “Close the door,” she said and, surprisingly, he obliged without as much as a raised brow. When she felt the silencing charms take effect, she gestured to the chairs in front of her desk. Malfoy unbuttoned the front of his robes and sat, crossing one leg over the other.

“Daphne said you wanted a statement,” his voice was cold and even.

“It might help us narrow down our circle of suspects.” She said, taking the case folder from her desk. “Can you tell me if you saw–” she began but was promptly interrupted.

“I didn’t see anything, but I know who was behind this. Unfortunately, they’re too smart for their own good,” said Malfoy, reaching in his inside pocket and producing a small envelope. “You won’t be able to catch them for this, but I have some evidence you might find enlightening on other cases. Perhaps those will help you further on,” he placed the envelope on her desk.

“Is your case related to others?” Asked Hermione, closing her folder.

“I don’t imagine many of those who fought against you in the war would come running to you for help now,” he responded, leaning back in his chair. “There are more cases like this that don’t get reported.”

“I remember you asked for my help almost 10 years ago,” Hermione said, drawing the envelope to her and opening it. Inside were copious amounts of index cards.

“Only I didn’t run,” he said, “But asking for your help has since proven to be worth the price,” she glanced up at him in surprise, before returning to the cards. “Those are all the dark objects the Ministry has confiscated from Malfoy Manor throughout the years. On the back, are the families who had duplicates of the artefacts or who have repeatedly asked after them. You’ll see one name is more prominent.”

“Is this who threatened you?” He didn’t answer her and instead pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I want to make something clear,” he said leaning forward and uncrossing his legs. “I don’t want this meeting to end up in the papers. In fact, the less the _Prophet_ knows, the better. There are enough rumours about my family without providing the general public with a list of my acquaintances.”

“As you wish,” said Hermione, putting the index cards back in the envelope. “This came from an anonymous informer in an unmarked envelope. It could have been mailed from Brazil, for all I care,” she leaned back in her chair and looked him in the eyes. “Why do this? If you know who it is you could have handled it yourself. Like so many of your peers.”

“I no longer want to be associated with anything present in that,” he pointed to the envelope, “not objects, not people. Some, I’m stuck with, but others, I’m more than happy to betray one last time,” he stood up, and so did Hermione.

“Regarding the rumour,” she said, and he stiffened, halfway to the door, before turning slowly around, “I am doing my best. But you need to make an official complaint to the Ministry if they are to denounce it.”

“You know as well as I do, that nothing of the sort will happen. Not while the majority of the current legislators hate my guts.”

“I’m doing everything I can. But it never seems to be good enough.”

“Maybe you should run for the Minister’ post. You’ll finally have enough power to change the world,” he buttoned his robes. “I never got the chance to thank you for the ribbon. Astoria bookmarks her work with it. She even took it to France.”

“Oh,” Hermione didn’t think Astoria had told him who it was from. She didn’t even consider it an important present – Astoria must have gotten dozens of more elaborate gifts.

“She would also like to wish Hugo a Happy Birthday. I know it’s early but it’s the closest she’ll come to.” He chuckled at her bewildered expression. “Even when she tries, my wife can scarcely keep something a secret from me, especially since she doesn’t have many old friends. But if being pen-pals with you keeps her sane, then so be it.”

“How are they?” Asked Hermione, before she could stop herself.

“Astoria is beyond worried. Scorpius is excited he has more outdoor space to run around. Terrorising peacocks is his favourite pastime when we visit the Manor, so he’ll be happy in France.” He said and nodded at Hermione. “Daphne knows how to reach us,” he said with a lift of his brow, “Should you have any news for us on the case, of course. I would wait a few days to allow her to settle.”

“Of course,” she said, taking a seat, and nodded. The charms lifted when he opened the door, “Thank you for the statement, Mr Malfoy. We’ll be in touch if we have any developments,” she said loud enough for Clara to hear.

“Good day, Mrs Granger,” he said and exited the room. Hermione set to cataloguing the index cards. She was two cards down when the door opened again.

“Mrs Granger,” said Clara, walking in Hermione’s office, “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, Merlin and Morgana save me,” groaned Hermione, “I am perfectly capable of handling Draco Malfoy.”

“It’s true,” said Ron, appearing from behind Clara, with a wide grin on his face, “she punched him in the face once,” Clara blushed deeply and scrambled back to her desk.

“What are you doing here?” Asked Hermione, walking around her desk to hug her husband.

“Someone missed you,” he turned around, and Hermione saw Rose and Hugo, standing just outside the door, hand in hand, “That someone is me, but the kids wanted to see you too,” he said and Hermione laughed, kissing him on the cheek.

“Well, come on then,” she said smiling to the kids, “I haven’t taken my lunch hour yet,” she extended her arms, and the kids rushed to grab a hand each. The moment their hands were in hers, they started babbling over each other. Hermione didn’t understand or hear half of what they were saying, but she didn’t much care, as long as they were happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
